Lost Memories
by dendragon14
Summary: When Stiles finds Isaac, Scott and Derek on the side of the highway, bloody and battered, he can only wonder what happened. They had left town on some pack business, but now they can't even remember their own names. With the help of Melissa, Peter, Lydia and Allison, Stiles tries to reconstruct his friends memories and find out what actually happened to them.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: When Stiles finds Isaac, Scott and Derek on the side of the highway, bloody and battered, he can only wonder what happened. They were supposed to be out of town for some pack business, but now they can't even remember their own names. With the help of Melissa, Peter, Lydia and Allison, Stiles tries to help reconstruct his friends memories.. and to find out what actually happened to them.**

Slowly, his eyes fluttered opened and Isaac sat up, rubbing the stiff ache in his neck. As he glanced around at his surroundings; everything seemed unfamiliar. He tried to recall how he had gotten here- wherever "here" was- but Isaac's mind kept drawing a blank. He just knew that wherever he was, it couldn't be good. A shiver ran through his spine. The room he was in was small, cramped and cold; it reminded him of the freezer. He searched frantically around the room for a way out. On the far wall, he noticed a small door, barely tall enough for a toddler. Isaac scrambled across the room on his hands and knees and slammed his palms against the door. It didn't budge. He grabbed at the cracks between the door and wall with his fingers, getting the same result; he was trapped.

Fear crept into his bones and wrapped a hand around his heart, squeezing it tightly.  
"Help," he cried. He slammed his fists against the door, hoping that someone would hear him. "Someone help me!" Frantically, he continued to slam at the door. As the panic inside of him began to escalate he switched to kicking the door. He could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate.  
"Help," he cried again, his voice wavering, "Please, help me!" Isaac could begin to feel his body shake as fear began to take over. He gave one more solid push against the door and gasped in surprise as the door suddenly gave way and Isaac tumbled forward, landing on his stomach. Isaac pushed himself onto his knees and quickly studied his new surroundings. He was in a dimly lit hallway that seemed as cold and cramped as the room he was just in.

Shakily, he got to his feet and slowly crept down the hall, one hand trailing along the concrete wall. Dressed only in boxers, Isaac couldn't help but shiver as goose bumps crawled up his arms and legs.  
The hall seemed to be endless. With each corner he turned, Isaac began to feel more and more doubtful. He was just about ready to give up when he heard this eerie scraping noise. It echoed off the walls, making it impossible to tell which way it was coming from. The sound sent chills down his spine. He kept pressing forward, hoping that he'd come to the end of the labyrinth of twists and turns.

Isaac froze on the spot as he heard the scraping noise again, louder this time. It sounded closer this time. He glanced over his shoulder and although he couldn't see anything he could feel something was following him. His heart began to pound unsteadily as he picked up his pace. As his pace quickened, he heard the sound again, longer and louder; it sounded like it was almost on top of him. As he turned the next corner Isaac caught a glimpse of a staircase at the end of the hall. It was his ray of hope. He broke out into a run, hoping that the stairs led away from whatever was down here.

Behind him, Isaac could hear the pounding of boots on the concrete along with the scraping sound.  
He was knocked to the ground as something slammed into him from behind. Isaac saw stars as his head hit the concrete. He feebly struggled to get onto his back, prepared to defend himself, but whoever had tackled him kept him firmly pinned to the ground.  
His captor rolled him onto his back and straddled him, pinning his arms to his sides. A black ski mask concealed his face except for his eyes and mouth. From a pocket concealed in the black coat he wore, he pulled out a syringe. Isaac's eyes widened in apprehension and he began to squirm underneath the weight of his subjugator.

"Don't do this, please," he moaned. His captor tilted his head, as though confused by Isaac's reaction. He leaned closer to Isaac, so close that Isaac could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. With gloved hands, he caressed Isaac's cheek before turning his head to the side. The jab of the needle in his neck was sudden and made him gasp.  
The weight of the man disappeared as his captor got to his feet. Isaac tried to move but quickly realized he couldn't. He was paralysed. He felt himself being dragged along the floor before being carelessly tossed onto a metal sled of some sort. Leather straps were pulled over his chest and legs, restraining him to the sled.

The man knelt on the ground as he doubled checked that the restraints were secure. Before getting back on his feet, his captor locked eyes with Isaac. What startled Isaac was the color of his eyes.  
His eyes, once a dark brown, were now a vibrant, bloody red; the eyes of an Alpha. He swore he saw the man smile underneath his ski mask. His eyes held a malicious glint in them. As his captor began to pull the sled down the hall, Isaac could only wonder what was to become of him.

**A/N: Feel free to favourite, follow or leave comments; they're all welcomed. It'd be nice if you let me know what you think of this.**


	2. Chapter 2

It was so cold. Why was it so cold?  
Blearily, he cracked open his eyes and winced as he tried to turn his stiff neck. His body convulsed in shivers as a cold wind ran over him and rain pelted him from above. Dazed, he stared up at the crying sky and tried to make sense as to where he was and how he had gotten there. But he couldn't find the slightest idea as to why he was outside, in the middle of a rainstorm, in nothing but boxers. All he knew and understood at the present moment was that he was going to die a cold death if he didn't find shelter soon.

His muscles and joints protested with each move he made. Slowly, painfully, he climbed his way up the side of the ditch he lay in and up onto the road. As he got to his feet, he wiped his muddy hands on his boxers and took a unsteady step forward.

He wandered out to the middle of the road and tried to get his bearings. His heart leapt into his throat as he turned around and saw the fast approaching lit eyes of a car. The car's tires squealed on the ash fault as the driver struggled to a stop. The grill of the car was mere inches away from him. The lights were overwhelming bright, so bright that he had to shield his eyes with his hand. He tried to take another step forward but fell to his knees as an overwhelming bout of dizziness came over him.

He heard the sound of footsteps as the occupants of the car came running over to him. A young man and a young woman- teenagers, he assumed- towered over him, their faces obscured by the shadows. A long moment of silence hung between the three of them before the boy finally spoke up.  
"Derek," the boy asked, "What the hell happened? Where are Scott and Isaac?" He gazed up at the two, genuinely confused. He didn't know what the boy was talking about. Who were Derek, Scott and Isaac?  
The two knelt down so they were eye level with him. He could hear the girl muttering frantically to the boy.

"You should call an ambulance; he looks half dead," he heard her hiss. The boy waved her off casually. The boy grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.  
"Derek," the boy repeated, "What happened to you? Where are Scott and Isaac? Were you attacked?"

"Stiles," the girl practically shrieked, "That's not helping. We should get him to a hospital or at least call the police; maybe they can help find Scott and Isaac."  
He watched the two bicker with tired eyes. They were making too much noise; he wanted them to stop. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a weak groan came out. With much difficulty, he tried to hoist himself to his feet but fumbled as another bout of dizziness assaulted him. His world tilted violently, and he suddenly found the ground racing up to meet him.

He lay there, content on not moving another inch, as he heard the two teens argue with one another. He really wanted them to stop; they were making his head hurt. He shut his eyes and forced himself to drown out the sounds of their fighting; all he wanted to do was sleep.

**A/N: Feel free to follow, favourite or comment. Reviews are much appreciated though; I like to know what you readers think of this. Should I keep writing this?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm sorry that the first two chapters were so short. I'll try and make them longer so that they are a decent length to read.  
-FYI: The type of amnesia that Derek, Scott and Isaac suffer from is called Dissociative Amnesia; this usually occurs after traumatic or stressful events. Technically the memories are still they, but are suppressed in the subconscious because of traumatic events.**

_Beep…Beep…Beep…  
_What was that noise? It sounded familiar to him, but he couldn't recall where he had heard it before. Opening his eyes, he glanced about the room, trying to get his bearings. He was first aware that he was lying in a bed and dressed in a baggy hospital gown. The bed sat in a well sized room that was dimly lit. Blinds were pulled down over a window, allowing small slits of sunlight to shine in. A woman with dark hair sat in an arm chair adjacent to the bed. She was sound asleep, her head lolling on her shoulders, her hair dishevelled. Something about her kept his attention momentarily. Did he know her; he felt as though he knew her.

He redirected his attention to the beeping sound he heard. It was coming from a machine that was positioned next to the bed. He followed the wires that ran away from the machine and found that they were attached to his chest with small stickers. He felt his brow furrow in thought as he tried to fathom what they were for.  
One by one, he pulled them off. When he finally pulled the last one off, the machine's beeping sound changed suddenly.  
_  
Beeeeep….  
_ The woman's eyes snapped open suddenly and she jumped up from the chair as though she had been shocked. Her mouth hung open for a moment, as though she was going to say something, but she quickly closed it as she reached for him.  
"No," he cried, shrinking away from her. His voice was gruff, barely above a whisper, and his throat was raw, as though someone had rubbed sandpaper down it. Three people came rushing into the room at the sound of the commotion. They all huddled at the end of the bed hesitantly.  
He didn't know who these people were or what they wanted, but they were frightening him. It was overwhelming.

"Go away," he yelled hoarsely, "Go away!" He pulled his knees up to his chest and clapped his hands over his ears. "Go away!"  
"Give him some space," the woman demanded, pushing the others back. He saw her mutter something the others that were in the room before ushering them out the door. She shut the door quietly and approached him cautiously. Apprehensively, he glanced at her. She smiled softly at him and lowered herself onto the edge of the bed.  
"Scott," she said softly, "its okay, you're safe here." She rested a hand on his knee. He flinched underneath her touch but did not move away. This felt familiar, and so did this woman, but no memories came to mind; he kept drawing a blank. It frustrated him, because this felt so familiar, but he couldn't recall who this woman was.

She had called him Scott. Was that his name? Why was it occurring to him only now that he didn't his own name? Where was his mind? Frustrated, he hit the side of his head with his palm in an attempt to resurface his memories.  
"Scott, sweetheart," she cooed, "It's okay."

"Is that me," he asked quietly. He could feel tears beginning to slide down his cheeks. "You called me Scott, is that my name?"  
She seemed thoroughly surprised by his words; the smile flickered off her face, momentarily replaced with sorrow. Slowly, she got to her feet and headed towards the door.  
"I'll be back in a just a minute. You stay right there, okay?"  
He waited patiently for her return and wiped the tears from his eyes. Although he couldn't recall any particular memories, he was positive that he knew that woman; she felt safe. She returned several moments later with a man in a lab coat in tow.  
"It's good to see you awake, Mr. McCall," he said, "I know you probably want to rest, but I just need to ask you a few questions."

* * *

Peter sat sullenly in the waiting room, lost in thought. He didn't really know why he was here or why his nephew was a patient here. He was a werewolf for heaven's sake; he healed almost instantaneously.  
He could have been at home, asleep, if he hadn't gotten a phone call from, of all people, Stiles Stilinski. The irritation of a human being had demanded that he come to the hospital right away. He had said something along the lines of how Derek needed him.

He didn't really know why Derek would need him; he hadn't needed Peter in a long time. Derek had become an independent grown man while he was stuck in a catatonic state after the fire. If anything, Derek just kept him around because he could be useful from time to time.

He was pulled from his thoughts as Melissa McCall approached him. She looked rather tired, Peter thought.  
"They've done some testing and it appears that all three have amnesia; they can't remember anything about themselves," Melissa stated.  
"Nothing at all," he asked, raising his eyebrows. Melissa's lips pulled down into a frown, and nodded.  
"That's what I was told, but they don't think it's permanent," Melissa explained, "Because your Derek's only living relative, they can release him to you, but you need to sign some papers."

He sighed heavily and hoisted himself to his feet and headed over to the nurses' station. After he signed and initialed in a zillion different places, he was allowed in to Derek's room.  
He lingered in the doorway and gave his nephew a once over. He took a step into the room and his werewolf senses tingled as he picked up a strong scent of fear with a lingering scent of distress. He couldn't help but feel sympathetic towards his nephew at the moment.  
He guessed Derek would need him after all.

**A/N: Feel free to review, follow or favourite. Let me know what you guys think about this, because I like to know what the public thinks.  
P.S.- I just want to thank all the people have given reviews-you're all so positive; I love it. **


	4. Disclaimer Notice

**Disclaimer: Totally forgot to put one on the first three chapters, but I do not own any part of Teen Wolf. All rights go to the creators.**

**Sorry that this isn't a chapter update, but I should have the fourth chapter up by tomorrow or the day after.**

**-dendragon14**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: None of this I own, Teen Wolf belongs to the fabulous creators.**

"Have I been there before," Scott asked, turning to Stiles for an answer. Stiles kept his eyes focused on the road but nodded an affirmative.  
"Yeah, you've been to Derek's loft before…We all have." Scott nodded, his eyes shifting focus to the passenger window to watch the scenery rush by. There was a moment of silence before Scott turned his attention back to Stiles.

"Am I friends with Derek?" he asked. Stiles thought his voice was somewhat demanding, but he shrugged it off. If things were normally how they were, Stiles would be the one asking all the questions. But because of the onset of Scott's amnesia, the roles were reversed. He wondered if he was every this annoying when he asked Scott questions, because at the moment, he was starting to get slightly annoyed.

"Yeah, I guess you're friends with Derek."  
"Are you friends with him?"  
"I guess so," Stiles replied nonchalantly. He sighed heavily and readjusted the position of his hands on the steering wheel. This was beginning to feel like an interrogation.

"What about-"  
"Scott, can you please be quiet," Stiles said curtly. "No more questions right now, okay?" In his peripheral vision, Stiles saw Scott slump in his seat, disappointed.  
"Okay," he grumbled, leaning against the window pane.  
The rest of the ride to the loft was uncomfortably quiet, and Stiles was grateful to get out of the car. They climbed the stairs up to the loft, their footsteps echoing off the lonely concrete walls.

Stiles pounded heavily on the entrance to the loft door. It slid open on rattling wheels, revealing Peter standing on the other side. His hair, which was normally combed back, was dishevelled. He seemed more irritated than usual; the scowl on his face was more pronounced. He backed away from the door to allow everyone in and headed towards the sofa.

"What the hell happened in here," Stiles asked. Broken porcelain and bits of food were scattered about the concrete floor haphazardly, and neither Derek nor Peter showed any interest in picking it up anytime soon. Peter glanced back at Stiles over his shoulder and smirked.  
"I was just trying to be helpful," he said. "Derek couldn't remember how to use a fork and knife, so I offered to show him…and to say he got a little frustrated is an understatement. He stabbed me with them."

"Maybe he had good reason to," Lydia muttered, a smirk on her face. Peter mimicked her before frowning and folding his arms over his chest.  
"So, have you any idea on how to solve their mysterious bout of amnesia," Peter asked, directing his question to no one in particular.

"Melissa was told that their amnesia is most likely dissociative. Meaning, the memories are still there, but they are repressed by the subconscious mind," Stiles explained to the group.  
"So all we have to do is resurface their memories," Allison stated quietly.  
"And what _exactly_ do you suggest we do to surface these memories," Peter asked. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs at the ankle. He pointed over to Derek, who stood by the floor length window, blankly staring out. "May I remind you that I had to show him the purpose of using a fork and knife this morning?"

"That's normal for some people with amnesia;" Lydia said suddenly, "Their procedural memory is sometimes compromised temporarily because of the damage done to the brain. They may know what the object is but they have no idea how to use it."  
"How do you even know that," Stiles asked, clearly still amazed at how smart Lydia actually was. She glanced at Stiles and smiled subtly, her eyes lit with humor.

"You're not the only one that does research," she stated. He and Lydia stared at each other longer than exceptional. They broke eye contact as Peter cleared his throat.  
"Let me ask again," he said, "How do you plan on resurfacing their memories?"  
"We could probably ask Deaton," Allison suggested. "He's helped us on a lot of things before, this shouldn't be a problem."  
"Sounds like a fantastic idea," Peter replied unenthusiastically. "Take Derek with you. I need a break from him already." He gestured loosely to the mess on the floor. "Plus, I need to clean up this mess."

* * *

Minus Peter, the group made their way to "Deaton's" place. Isaac wasn't really sure who this Deaton person was, but something about the name seemed familiar, but he couldn't recall anything in particular.  
They pulled up in front of an animal clinic and waltzed on it.  
He seemed relatively surprised at their appearance.

"What brings you all here," he asked. His voice was firm, but it was calm. Isaac found it very soothing and familiar. Perhaps, he had known Deaton before the onset of his amnesia. Momentarily, he zoned out as Stiles explained the situation at hand. Deaton's face darkened, his lips turning down into a frown. He walked past them and turned the "We're Open" sign to "Sorry, we're closed".

"Follow me," he said. Deaton led them down a small hallway that forced them to walk single file. He led them to a door that read, in black block letters "Examination Room". He opened the door, flicked on the lights and ushered everyone inside.  
Just before he passed through the threshold into the room, Isaac caught a glimpse of what lay inside the room.

Under bright fluorescent lights, a metal examination table stood in the middle of the room. He glanced away from the metal table to a large cabinet that stood on the far wall. The glass doors on the cabinet revealed numerous medical and surgical supplies. He could clearly see scalpels and other sharp implements. And although he knew that he shouldn't be afraid of those objects, he couldn't understand why he felt intense fear when he saw them. Entering the room suddenly didn't seem like a good idea. He pulled himself to a stop in the doorway and pulled his hand out of Allison's grasp.  
She turned to him, her brow furrowed in confusion. She took a step towards him.

"Isaac, what's wrong," Allison asked, her voice laced with concern.  
"No," he mumbled, taking a step back. "No. Not again. Not again." He backed out of the room and back into the hall. As he turned to leave he tripped over his own feet, which sent him sprawling to the ground. He curled in on himself as he felt a sense of panic take a hold of him, squeezing tightly around his chest. The overwhelming sense of fear physically shook him to his core. He couldn't stop shaking.

* * *

Isaac's sudden panic attack-if you could call it that- had taken everyone off guard. Deaton had taken the others back to the examination room to give Isaac some space. Only Lydia remained by her side, silently pressed up against the wall.

Allison knelt at Isaac's side, a comforting hand resting on his trembling body. She ran one hand through his curly locks while she rubbed his back with the other. As her fingers brushed the back of his neck, she felt a small, round protuberance.  
"What the heck," she muttered. She ran her fingers along his neck again. There was definitely something under his skin. She turned to Lydia, who still stood against the wall.  
"Lydia, go get Deaton," she ordered. "There's something imbedded under the skin on the back of his neck."

**A/N: So, there's the fourth chapter. Hope you all enjoy! And also, a thank you to all of you have followed, favorited, or reviewed this story.**


	6. Chapter 5

After Allison had managed to get Isaac back up on his feet and gently coax him into the examination room, Deaton warily examined his neck, making sure not to touch the distension. "Do you know what it is," Stiles asked demandingly. Deaton sighed heavily, pinched the bridge of his nose and straightened up.  
"No, I can't be sure of what it is because I was not the one that put it there. I'm actually surprised that someone managed to subdue them long enough to put whatever this is inside. Whoever attacked them, they'd have to be very powerful to overwhelm three werewolves."

"So, what are you trying to say, exactly," he asked.  
"I'm saying that there might have been more than one attacker. Either that, or some other supernatural creature took them, but I doubt it."  
"Well, why can't you just take it out of them," Stiles asked. Lydia and Allison both glared at him darkly, their eyes disapproving, their lips pulled down at the corners.

"Where were you," Lydia snapped, "Did you not notice what just happened to Isaac? We don't need that happening to Scott and Derek too."  
"Yeah, but-" Stiles began to protest, looking to get in a sarcastic comment  
"Look-we don't know what it does," Allison said, "It could be harmless or it could end up killing them. I think the sooner we take them out, the better."  
"Agreed," Stiles and Lydia replied in unison. The three of them glanced at Scott, Derek and Isaac. They all seemed rather lost in their own worlds.

"But we don't know how to remove it, and we don't know anyone who knows how to remove it." The silence between the three between the three was drawn tightly as they all mulled the situation over in their heads. Stiles glanced at the girls; first at Lydia, then at Allison. He felt a light bulb go off.  
"Why are you looking at me like that, Stiles," Allison asked, "It's creeping me out." Stiles shook his head, clearing the glazed over look in his eyes.  
"I was just thinking that…if Deaton can't help, maybe your dad could?" Allison seemed startled by his words. She gaped at him, momentarily speechless.

"My dad," she repeated, "What makes you think that my dad can help with any of this?"  
"He's a Hunter, he knows stuff about the supernatural."  
"Yeah, but this problem doesn't exactly seem…supernatural," Allison said, her voice doubtful.

Yeah, but our "go to" guy can't help us," Stiles exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his hands, "and the werewolves are all out of commission except for Peter, who isn't much help. Your dad's the only one who may be able to help us." Allison sighed heavily and folded her arms over her chest. She bit her lip, weighing the pros and cons.  
"Fine, I'll ask him," she said, her voice resigned. "But don't get your hopes up; he probably won't know anything about this."

* * *

Stiles woke to the sound of his phone vibrating violently on the bedside table. Blindly, he fumbled for it and grabbed it. He squinted at it making sure that the number he was reading was correct. He pressed the talk button and put it to his ear.  
"Ms McCall, what's wrong," he asked, stifling a yawn.

I'm not sure, but I didn't know who else to call. I thought that maybe you might be able to help." Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Something was wrong.  
He flung the covers off of him and swung his feet down onto the floor. He held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulled on a jacket and a pair of shoes.  
"What's happened," he asked. There was a short pause before Melissa answered.

"Isaac's missing, I can't find him anywhere in the house, and Scott…Scott's not acting like himself."  
"What do you mean?"  
"He tried to attack me."

**A/N: Sorry that this was kind of short, but I hope you enjoy. I'll try and make the next chapter longer, and also, expect some flashbacks in the next chapter or two. Reviews are welcomed and appreciated and feel free to follow or favorite.**

_Next Chapter Preview_

_Stiles' hold on Scott's_ _wrists tightened. The cleaver was barely three inches away from his face; so close that he could see his terrified expression in the stainless steel. Scott fought against him, pushing with his werewolf strength. The cleaver's sharp blade was now hovered an inch above him. Stiles pushed with as much force as he could muster and managed to push Scott against the wall, pinning him down momentarily._  
_"Scott, buddy," Stiles said through gritted teeth, "I need you to snap out of it. It's me; it's Stiles." Scott's eyes held no recognition. His eyes flashed red and he growled. With a subtle shove, he made Stiles lose his footing. Their positions reversed as Scott slammed him up against the wall. He saw stars as his head hit the wall. The cleaver in Scott's hands clattered to the floor as Scott continued to slam Stiles' head against the wall._  
_"Scott," Stiles whispered. Scott took a step back, allowing Stiles to topple to the floor. He could feel a dull throbbing ache beginning at the back of his head. His vision blurred. He blinked furiously, but it didn't clear. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into unconsciousness._


	7. Chapter 6

Stiles parked haphazardly in front of Scott's house. As he cut the ignition, he saw that the front door to the house was ajar, the hall inside darkened.  
"That can't be good," he muttered. He jumped out of his car and ran to the door. He inched open farther and poked his head inside the house. It was eerily quiet. Hesitantly, Stiles took a step inside.

"Ms McCall," he called out. He closed the front door and flicked on the lights for the hallway. At first glance it was obvious that a struggle had occurred. The pictures that lined the hall were crooked, and the area rug that normally lay by the front door was piled up by the staircase.  
"Hello," he called out again. Nothing. Stiles took several more steps into the house and glanced into the living room and then the kitchen. Just as he was about to go upstairs he noticed that at the end of the hall red eyes glared at him. Scott growled, long and low before running and lunging at him. Stiles scuttled out of the way, narrowly missing Scott's claws. He stumbled into the kitchen and blindly felt his way around as Scott clawed at him again.

Scott glanced away from him for a moment, his eyes focused on the knife set near the sink. He reached across and pulled a cleaver free from the knife block. His eyes locked back onto to Stiles, a deranged smile crawled onto his face. He lunged, aiming the cleaver at Stiles' head.  
Instinctively, Stiles grabbed Scott's wrists just in time. Scott growled. Stiles' hold on Scott's wrists tightened. The cleaver was barely three inches away from his face; so close that he could see his terrified expression in the stainless steel. Scott fought against him, pushing with his werewolf strength. The cleaver's sharp blade now hovered an inch above him. Stiles pushed with as much force as he could muster and managed to push Scott against the wall, pinning him down momentarily.

"Scott, buddy," Stiles said through gritted teeth, "I need you to snap out of it. It's me; it's Stiles." Scott's eyes held no recognition. His eyes flashed red and he growled. With a subtle shove, he made Stiles lose his footing. Their positions reversed as Scott slammed him up against the wall. He saw stars as his head hit the wall. The cleaver in Scott's hands clattered to the floor as Scott continued to slam Stiles' head against the wall.  
"Scott," Stiles whispered. Scott took a step back, allowing Stiles to topple to the floor. He could feel a dull throbbing ache beginning at the back of his head. His vision blurred. He blinked furiously, but it didn't clear. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into unconsciousness.

* * *

_Fluorescent lights beat down upon him like the sun on a hot day. It hurt his eyes it was so blindingly bright. He squinted in the brightness and turned his head .In his sight, he could see two men one of whom he recognized; the one in the mask and black coat. The other man seemed to be in his mid-thirties. He looked similar to Allison's father.  
"How many times I have told you," the man screamed, spittle flying from his lips, "I told you I wanted them here unharmed!"_

_"There's nothing wrong with him," the Alpha replied defensively. There was a loud crash of metal on metal that was followed by the sharp contact of skin on skin._  
_"I was watching when you took him," the man growled, "I saw his head hit the ground. You might've given him a concussion!"_  
_"It's not going to do any harm," the Alpha muttered, "You're already going to scramble his brains. Perhaps giving him a concussion is a good thing."_  
_"Get out," the man demanded. There was a long pause before he heard the shattering of glass against the wall. "I said GET OUT!"_

Isaac's eyes flew open and he jerked up into a sitting position. His heart pounded in his chest as he wildly glanced around, assessing his surroundings. Somehow, he had ended up in the forest. Blood covered his hands, his chest. An animal carcass lay close by, beyond mutilated. He scrambled to his feet and glanced around him as he tried to orientate his location. Automatically, he began to wander in whatever direction seemed right.

Somehow, he managed to find the main road that split the forest in half. He was at a loss as of where to go after that. His head seemed foggy and the fact that he was cold and tired didn't help any. Eventually, someone would have to come down the road; he'd wait until someone passed by. He sat himself at the edge of the road and pulled his knees up to his chest.  
He didn't know how long it had been, but sometime later, he heard the motor of a car approaching. It screeched to a stop next to him and he saw Lydia and Allison get out. Allison jogged over to him and knelt next to him. Lydia stayed near the car, her eyes focused on her phone. How did they know where to find him?

"Are you okay," Allison asked. Isaac nodded and Allison hoisted him to his feet. "Are you sure, Isaac? You're all bloody-"  
"Allison," Lydia interrupted, "We need to get to Scott's."  
Allison barged into Scott's house and stopped in her tracks. She stared at the scene before her. Stiles sat on the sofa, an icepack pressed to his head, looking rather dazed. Dr. Deaton and Ms. McCall stood near the window, huddled close together. Scott sat in the middle of the room, bound to a chair, which Allison assumed was soaked in wolfs bane, courteous of Deaton.

"What happened," Allison demanded.  
"Scott attacked me," Stiles stated, as though it was normal. "But that's not what's important right now. We need to figure out what the hell is planted inside them. It's probably what made Scott go haywire in the first place."  
All eyes turned expectantly towards Allison, as though her words would solve the problem. Feeling self-conscious, she folded her arms over her chest defensively and shifted her weight onto one foot.

"What?"  
"You asked your dad, right," Stiles demanded.  
"Yeah," she replied curtly, avoiding eye contact.  
"Yeah, what, Allison," Stiles demanded, ever persistent. "Does he know something or not?" Allison bit her lip, averting her eyes from her friend. She sighed and turned back to Stiles.  
"He said that whoever did this to them," she said, her voice steady, "Might have been a Hunter."

**A/N: Sorry for such a long wait, but I've been busy working on another story. Hope you enjoy this. Reviews are helpful and welcomed.**

_Preview for the next chapter:_

"_He was literally foaming at the mouth," Peter stated firmly, "Don't you think that's something to be concerned about?"  
"Most definitely," Deaton replied, "But I can't help you on this Peter. I honestly don't know anything about what was implanted in Derek and the others. Mr. Argent might be the man to ask."  
Peter smirked; typical that a Hunter would know. He sighed heavily, thanked Deaton for wasting his time and headed back to his car. Derek sat in the passenger seat, his head against the window, eyes closed. Peter placed a hand on his nephew's shoulder, a subtle attempt at comfort. Derek startled at the touch and opened his eyes. He glanced with sleepy eyes at Peter before brining himself back up into a sitting position.  
"Where are we," he asked, his speech slightly slurred.  
"The animal clinic," Peter said dully. He pulled out of the parking lot and back out onto the road. "But we have to go see a certain someone. They may be able to remove whatever's in your neck."_


	8. Important Note

**Sorry that this is not an update, but I just wanted to correct something that I noticed in the previous chapter. In the preview, I have Peter talking to Dr. Deaton at the animal clinic. This is entirely wrong as Dr. Deaton is at Scott's house. So forgive me for the error, and I am sorry that this is not an update. I will be updating as quickly as I possibly can.**

-dendragon14  



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